


Chocolates and Cherubs

by BardofEryn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Body Horror, Body Modification, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I swear that one has a happy ending, It just starts really dark, It's called Hearts for anyone who wants to avoid it, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Surgery, This is all for one story I did:, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardofEryn/pseuds/BardofEryn
Summary: This is a fourteen part series of stories for the Ineffable Valentines Challenge.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

This is a collection of fourteen stories for the Ineffable Valentines Challenge -- one story for every day of February until Valentine's Day. Prompts for the challenge are posted [here](https://mielpetite.tumblr.com/post/190020835427/okay-people-thank-you-all-for-your-input-i-have).

The content does range in style and graphic content. ("Hearts," for instance, should be given a hard pass if you're at all squeamish. It's the body mod one - though it's ending is very sweet.) I've given the whole thing a "T" since I don't recall doing anything spectacularly bad, but there is some swearing. I will add tags as appropriate. 

With all that out of the way, enjoy!


	2. Chocolates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley thinks buying chocolates for his angel will be easy. Surely, something you could do in thirty minutes.

Crowley had thought buying chocolates for Aziraphale would be easy. He’d just go to a shop, pick up a box of chocolates, pay for them (because Aziraphale insisted on it), and then present them to his angel for Valentine’s Day. Humans had been doing it for years; it couldn’t be that hard.

He stared at rows and rows of pink and gold and red boxes -- all of them sleek or shaped like hearts. “What’s a Ghirardelli?” he murmured, eyeing a bright red box in the shape of a heart. It said “premium chocolates” on it, but he’d never heard Aziraphale mention them. Then again, he usually talked about very specific chocolatiers who could only be found in Switzerland or France. This was a Tesco. There were no chocolatiers in sight, much less Swiss ones. He picked up a clear box of chocolates with gold foil over each chocolate. 

“My dear, it’s not about how food _looks_ ,” he remembered Aziraphale saying. He’d just asked why he wasn’t sending back a plate that, to him, looked like someone had gotten sick on it. “It’s about how it _tastes_.”

He eyed the golden chocolates suspiciously. They _looked_ good, but did they taste good?

He mentally calculated how long it would take to go to one of those boutiques in Switzerland and demand that the chocolatier make something for him. Something involving pears.

He glanced at his watch. It was too late now. He was supposed to meet Aziraphale in half an hour. Even at his quickest and most demonic, he couldn’t get a Swiss chocolatier to make pear chocolates in half an hour. He glared at the rows of chocolates and decided there was only one course of action.

\---

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed as he opened the door to his shop. “Happy -- ! My dear, are you all right?”

He nodded. He was leaning against the doorframe and was covered in a thin film of sweat. His hair, usually styled just so was a tangled mess. “’S in the car.”

“What’s in the car, dearest?” he asked, taking out his handkerchief to mop Crowley’s face. Gentle fingers wiped at his brow and darted under the sides of his glasses. His expression hardened. “Is it something that needs to be...” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “...taken care of?”

Crowley smiled at him. “’S a present,” he said, taking Aziraphale’s hand and leading him to the car. He opened the door to the backseat with his free hand. “Didn’t know which type you liked,” he said bashfully. “So I got one of each.”

“Oh, my dear,” he said, taking in the sight of at least fifty boxes of chocolates all stuffed into the Bentley. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“Wot? And not give chocolates to my angel?” He dropped his hand and wrapped a gangly arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. He gave him a peck on the cheek. “Never.”

“It’s... Well, it’s quite dashing of you, but...” He looked back at the open door to his bookshop. Rose petals were already blowing out the door and onto the street from the hundreds of bouquets of roses Crowley had sent him that morning. It had been a trial for the delivery man to get them all into the shop. He suspected it would require a minor miracle to keep the flowers from getting into every part of his book collection. “Perhaps we can keep it a bit more low-key next time?” he suggested. He took Crowley’s hands in his. “I know it’s our first Valentine’s Day together, but I already know that you love me.” He gave him his biggest, roundest puppy dog eyes. “And I _hope_ that you know that I love you.”

Crowley gulped, color rising in his cheeks. “Ngk, yeah, well... Next time. But for _now_.” He picked up the nearest box of chocolates, which happened to be the gold ones he was looking at earlier, and cracked open the case. He held it open for Aziraphale. “Fancy a chocolate?” 


	3. Chocolates bonus chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people commented that they thought Crowley would be sweating from eating lots of chocolate. So I wrote this up.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed as the demon stumbled into his bookshop. “I – My dear, are you alright?”

“No,” he said. He clutched at his stomach. “Think I’m dying.”

Fear flashed through Aziraphale’s eyes. He leapt up from his desk. “What was it?” he asked, taking Crowley’s face in his hands. “A car crash? A holy weapon? You didn’t go messing with holy water, did you?”

“Noooo, nothin’ like that, ang–” His cheeks puffed out. He held up a finger, concentrated very hard on something, and then blew the air out of his cheeks. He grabbed onto Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Sweets,” he blurted.

“Sorry?”

“Sweets, angel. Y’know, those things you like.”

“I’m aware of what sweets are,” he said stiffly. “I’m not sure how that connects to you dying.”

He looked at him pitifully. “Muh-nuh, I ate them.”

“Yes?” Aziraphale prompted.

“Went all the way to Switzerland. Found that chocolatier you like.”

“Patrik König?” he asked, his eyes going wide.

“‘S the one.” His stomach gurgled and he turned a green color. “I asked which was his best chocolate. He said all of them were. So I tried–”

“All of them,” he interrupted, a tiny smile flitting across his face.

“Had to pick the best one for you, didn’t I?” He gestured with his head towards a package he’d dropped on his way in. “Pear ones.”

As much as Aziraphale wanted to try them, he had to attend to Crowley first. “What if you lie down in the back room,” he said, already sliding his arm under Crowley’s shoulder. “I’ll make you some nice ginger–”

“No! No tea. No anything.” He drooped onto Aziraphale. “Jus’ let me die in peace.”

“You aren’t dying, dearest,” he said as he began dragging Crowley towards the backroom. “You’re having a stomach upset.”

He lifted his head up towards Aziraphale’s, his brows raised. “Then why’s my heart goin’ 120 mph?”

“That’s what happens when you eat too much sugar,” he said. “Especially when you’re not used to it.”

“And my pants are so tight. It’s like the chocolates are _squeezing_ me.”

“That’s what happens when you eat too much.”

“How do you live like this?” he moaned as Aziraphale laid him out on the sofa. “It’s blessed horrible.”

“Well, normally I don’t eat everything in the shop,” he said as he covered him up with a sky-blue tartan blanket.

“One of each,” he corrected. “Like that ark.”

He took a deep breath to stop himself from correcting him. He kissed him on the forehead. “This too shall pass,” he said. “And it will go a great deal quicker if you’ll let me make you some ginger tea.”

“It’ll make the pain stop?” he asked like a scared, sick child.

“It will help,” he said. He pat Crowley’s hand. “And I’ll sit with you the whole time.”

“You will?”

“Of course!” He flashed him a mischievous grin. “When else should I eat the lovely chocolates you got me?”


	4. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley receives a rose tree from Aziraphale as a Valentine's Day present. Determined to make this work for the sake of his angel, Crowley takes what's basically a mangled shrub and tries to put the fear of himself into it.
> 
> This fic connects with the "Chocolates" one, so you'll see some references to that.

It was Valentine’s Day. After the over-enthusiasm of last year (Aziraphale was still finding bits of rose petals around his shop), they had both decided on lunch and a simple exchange of one gift each. The angel had enjoyed lunch at the Ritz immensely, and was even more overjoyed when Crowley slid a paper-wrapped book across the table. It was a first edition of _Pride and Prejudice_. He had all but squealed in delight.

“I have your present waiting back at the bookshop,” he said, taking Crowley’s hand and miracling the payment and a tip onto the table. “I think you’re going to love it.”

—

It was a quick ride back to the bookshop and an even quicker walk to the backroom.

“I do hope you’ll like it,” Aziraphale said as he disappeared into the kitchenette. 

“I’m sure I will,” Crowley said as he leaned back into the sofa, his arms crossed behind his head. _It’s probably some sort of dessert,_ he thought. _Leave it to Aziraphale to make a big fuss over dessert_. He closed his eyes, thinking about a lovely afternoon with his angel.

His eyes shot open when something hit the coffee table with a loud thud. All he could see were green leaves. He straightened up and blinked his eyes back into focus. It was a potted tree of some sort. Or, at least, it looked like a tree.

“Ah, terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said. He was pulling at his fingers. “It slipped there at the last moment. I hope you weren’t sleeping.”

“Did you do this yourself?” he asked, examining the leaves and the trunk. 

“Ah, no. I got it from a company.” He smiled brightly at him. “It’s a rose tree!” he exclaimed with a happy little wiggle.

“So that’s what they’re calling it,” he murmured. In reality, it was a bush that was shaped like a tree by cutting all but one thick “trunk” off of the bottom half of it. Even with that bit of grooming, it still needed to be held up by a stick.

“It makes hybrid tea roses,” he said. “The pictures looked lovely.”

“Mhmm,” he said, examining it for buds. There were a few there, but, with a bit of discipline, there could be more.

“Do you not like it?”

Crowley looked up at his angel, who wore a worried expression. “Ngk, no! It’s… S’ a great… Roses, you said?”

“Yes. Red ones.”

“Ah.” He made a mental note of it in case it got any ideas. “Well, it’s… Wow!”

“You don’t like it.”

“No! I… Er… Never said that. It’s… Well, it’s a…” He couldn’t even say “tree” in perfect honesty. 

“You hate it. Oh! I knew I should have gotten you that leather jacket,” he pouted as he sank down into his chair across from Crowley. 

“No,” he lied. A leather jacket did sound like an upgrade. He stood up so he could see Aziraphale over the tree. “’S a perfect gift. I know just the spot for it. I’m takin’ it home now.” He grabbed the pot, and found that it was really heavy. With a grunt, he shrugged it into his arms (perhaps using a bit of a demonic miracle to get it there) and waddled over to Aziraphale. “It’s lovely and it needs sunlight,” he said before kissing him on the cheek. “Which is why I’m going back to my flat with it.” It started to fall and he hoisted it up again. “Ngk. Wouldn’t want it dying in a backroom.”

“You don’t hate it?” he asked, giving him some of his best puppy dog eyes.

“No, angel, it’s a very nice…” He swallowed. “…tree.” 

—

People other than Crowley might have been alarmed at how the trunk had grown three times thicker in the quick car ride back to his flat. He considered it the natural order of things. He expected the tree to become more like a tree, so it did. It took some struggling and one hastily done demonic miracle to get it into his flat, but he soon had it set up next to the window.

He glared at his other plants. “Right,” he growled, circling around the room and examining them. “I’ve had a _bad_ day,” he said. He grabbed the plant mister and aimed it at them like a gun. “My idiot angel gave me a mangled shrub for Valentine’s Day. And you lot aren’t making it any better.”

The plants shook their leaves in terror.

“And _you_!” He turned on the rose tree, prepared to make it face his wrath.

Its leaves glowed green-gold in the sunlight. It exuded love. Love from a particular, blond-haired angel.

He sighed and ran his free hand over his face. “You’re doing well,” he murmured, spritzing it lightly with the plant mister.

The tree stood a little taller.

“The rest of you lot, grow _better_!” he yelled before stalking out of the conservatory.

—

He wasn’t sure how he knew the other plants were giving the rose tree dirty looks. Maybe it was the way the plants grew away from it when they should have grown evenly in all directions. Maybe it was the way that the tree shook whenever Crowley wasn’t facing it. In any case, he had moved it to his bedroom and it seemed to have calmed down. It was beginning to form little rosebuds with just a hint of red peeking out the top.

It had also doubled in size. What had been a reasonably sized potted shrub had turned into something resembling a small apple tree. He’d had to repot it once already, and it looked like it was getting ready for its second go. 

“You’ll grow into a beautiful tree, one day,” he said, talking to it like the radio show had actually meant for him to. He spritzed it lightly. “And then we’re going to take one of your roses and give it back to Aziraphale. How does that sound?”

It bounced happily as if blown by a cheerful breeze. 

He smiled and misted it again. “Thought so.” 

— 

“Welp. Here we are,” he said, stopping the Bentley in front of the ruined church. What had been a tribute to gothic architecture was now bits of stone lurching out of the ground and beds of moss and grass. It was a special place for Crowley. Though he hadn’t said as much, he was pretty sure it was here that Aziraphale first felt the same way about him as he’d felt about the angel for thousands of years. 

He got out of the car and pat the top of the Bentley. “What do you think?” he asked, turning to look at the large rose tree that was strapped to the top of the car. (Crowley thought putting the tree there wouldn’t hurt the tree or the car so, naturally, it didn’t.)

Its leaves wiggled apprehensively.

“Relax. You’ll be fine,” he said, already pulling a spade and a shovel from the backseat. “This way you can get more sunlight than at the flat. An’ I’ll still come and visit.”

The wiggling stopped.

Crowley nodded and miracled the tree so that it was sitting with its burlap-covered roots on the ground and trunk leaning against the Bentley. “I’m thinking right over there,” he said, pointing with the spade to what had been the center of the church. “Give you some room to root before you hit the walls.”

Without waiting for an answer, he sauntered over to the spot. Now that it wasn’t holy ground anymore, Crowley could appreciate the location. A gentle breeze caressed the air. It had the rich smell of plants and earth. Little animals poked their heads out to look at him then hastily ran away to burrows or nests. It was almost like…

He banished the thought. 

“Here we are,” he murmured. He got down on his knees and dug up a spadeful of earth. It was the sort of rich, airy soil that made professional gardeners giggle with glee. He glanced around, unsure what to make of that. By rights, it should have been gravel and stone that he’d have to miracle into something the rose tree could live in.

His gaze fell on the tree. Its leaves were shaking with anticipation.

“Yeah, you’re right. Who cares,” he said, picking up the shovel and digging out the beginnings of a hole. “Point is to get you in the ground so you can grow up even bigger and stronger.”

It took him hours to dig a hole big enough for the rose tree. By the time he was done, he was covered in dirt and sweat. He climbed out of the hole and snapped his fingers. The rose tree appeared in the hole and then seemed to settle in like an old man in a comfy chair. For a moment, he just admired the scene. The rose tree was now a little over twice his height with a nice, strong trunk. Its branches shot in every direction, but most reached for the sky. Its dark green leaves were glossy and full. Little hints of red peaked through the leaves, promising big, red roses when the time came.

“What d’you think?” he asked. “Think it’s a nice enough spot?”

The tree’s branches bounced.

“’S what I thought,” he said as he began shoving the earth back over its roots. He smiled at it. “Jus’ wait until Angel sees you,” he said as shoveled another bit of earth into the hole. “He’s going to love you.”

If trees could sigh, this one would have. As it was, it respirated its leaves in a contented way.

By the time he was done, Crowley was exhausted but content. “Oi! Make sure you have plenty of roses when I bring him here next week,” he said, pointing the spade at the tree.

It bounced, a little more solemnly this time.

“Right.” He glanced up at the sky. Rainclouds were gathering in the east. _Well, that’s lucky_ , he thought as he put the shovel and spade back into the Bentley. “Some rain coming your way!” he yelled to the rose tree. “Make some use of it, alright?” 

—

A week later, a black Bentley sped through London at 120 mph.

“Where on Earth are we going?” Aziraphale asked, holding onto his seat with white knuckles.

“Jus’ a little place I thought would be good for our picnic,” he said, taking both hands off the wheel to gesture at the white, wicker basket in the backseat.

“Hands on the wheel!” he cried.

He shrugged, but obeyed. “’S not like anyone’s going to get in the way,” he said. “Not like I’m going to–” He squinted at a sign. “Hold on, this is it.” He turned the wheel sharply. The Bentley careened up onto two wheels for a moment before hitting the ground again with a dull “thunk.”

“Crowley!” he scolded as they skid to a stop.

“Wot? Nothing happened.” He grinned at him. “Anyway, we’re here.”

Aziraphale stared straight ahead. Finally, he managed to pry his right hand off of his seat and reach for the handkerchief he kept in his waistcoat.

“Oh, come on, angel, it wasn’t that bad,” he said, leaning towards him. 

He mopped at his brow before depositing the handkerchief back in his waistcoat pocket. “We could have been discorporated.”

“But we weren’t.” He pecked him on the cheek. “C’mon. Look around.”

He took a deep breath and looked out the window. His face lit up. “Oh, Crowley!” he exclaimed. “How did you know I was trying to spruce up this area?”

“Wot?” he said.

“I’ve been coming here every Sunday to perform a few miracles,” he said. “Encouraging plants, making the soil nice, rounding the jagged edges of pillars. I was thinking it’d make a lovely retreat.”

“Yeah, er, ngk, unh, ‘s what I thought too,” he said. He pushed his sunglasses further up his nose. “’S why I picked it.” 

“Only, I don’t remember…” He smiled. He turned to Crowley, eyes misted with tears. “Is that…?”

He grinned. “Only one way to find out,” he said. He pulled the picnic basket out of the backseat and opened his door. “Shall…? Oi!” he shouted as he saw Aziraphale already halfway to the tree. He muttered some curses under his breath and ran to catch up with him. It took him a moment to catch up. “Oi! ’S my romantic…” He trailed off when he saw the look on Aziraphale face. It wasn’t excited or frantic like usual. He looked calm – one might even say _serene_. 

“This is so lovely, my dear,” he said, approaching the rose tree. True to its promise, it had bloomed beautiful, bright red roses. Every rose looked like a red star, its petals like a beautiful nebula that folded in on itself until it disappeared into the soft, dark circle in the middle.

Crowley carefully plucked one of the roses. He tried to think of something Will would have said back in 1500′s, but couldn’t come up with anything. “Ngk. Rose for my rose,” he murmured, holding it out to him.

He gave him a fond smile and took the rose from him with gentle hands. “Thank you, my dear,” he said, “but…” He quickly banished the thorns and slid the rose behind Crowley’s ear. “… I think it would look far better on you.” He took a step back to survey his handiwork, his eyes blue-green in the sunlight. 

He blushed.

“Yes. I would say that that’s…” He took a step forward. “…absolutely…” He moved in so that his lips were almost touching Crowley’s. “…perfect.”

He melted into the warmth of his kiss.

And behind them the rose tree heaved a contented sigh.


	5. Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one starts where "Roses" left off. Only with Shakespeare.
> 
> I may or may not have drawn upon a certain David Tennant performance for this. A certain production of Much Ado About Nothing.

Crowley and Aziraphale lounged under the rose tree. They’d completely forgotten their picnic and were instead basking in each other’s warmth and the cool, fresh air in their garden. 

Crowley had placed his back firmly against the trunk, congratulating himself on a job well done. Aziraphale laid his head against Crowley’s shoulder like a pillow. He gazed up at the tree full of red roses, a faint smile on his lips. His halo of white-blond hair fluttered in the breeze. His mouth was slightly parted, looking like two pink rose petals. 

Crowley ran a hand through the angel’s hair. “I love nothing in the world so well as you,” he said. He blushed when he looked up at him, grey-blue eyes wide. He looked away, trying to figure out if he could spontaneously combust and not hurt Aziraphale. “Is not that strange?”

“As strange as the thing I know not,” he replied. “It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you.”

“You remember this?” he asked, his mouth hanging open.

“Of course! I did come to every performance.” He played with his snake-like tie. “You were a wonderful Antonio.”

“Ye-er-ngk-um,” he said eloquently.

“And the play is interesting in its own right,” he continued. “Especially Beatrice and Benedick.”

“By my sword, Aziraphale, thou lovest me!” he exclaimed, standing up with a jolt.

He winced as his head hit the tree. “ _Crowley!_ ”

“Sorry.” 

He wrinkled his nose. “Also, that throws off the meter,” he said. “A-zir-aph-ale. Be-a-trice.”

“Work with me here,” he said, making little circle motions with his hands, “I’m trying to be romantic.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do not swear and eat it,” he said, getting up onto his knees and glowering at him. 

He leaned against the tree with one arm and tried to look debonair. “I will swear by it that you love me,” he said, “and I will make him eat it that says I love not you.”

Aziraphale got to his feet. “Will you not eat your words?”

He leaned towards him so that their noses almost touched. “With no sauce that can be devised to it.” He grinned. “I protest I love thee.” 

His eyes widened with love and joy. Then, just as quickly, his face fell and he turned away from Crowley. “Why then, God forgive me,” he said.

He grimaced. “Do we have to bring Her into this?”

He glanced over his shoulder at Crowley. “To quote a dear friend of mine: Work with me here, I’m trying to be romantic.” 

He rolled his eyes. “What offense, sweet Aziraphale?”

“You have stayed me in a happy hour.” He turned around, his lips parted and his eyes ablaze with love. “I was about to protest I loved _you_.”

His chest felt like it was going to burst. “Then do it with all thy heart,” he rasped, unable to catch his breath.

He draped his arms around Crowley’s neck. “I love you with so much of my heart there is none left to protest.” He kissed him on the lips and the two of them melted into each other’s heat.

“Please don’t ask me to kill Claudio,” Crowley said as soon as they’d parted. “I mean, I’ll do it, but ‘s jus’ a messy business.”

The left corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “What about that man who keeps trying to buy my copy of _The Adventures of Winnie the Pooh_?”

He snapped his fingers. “Done!”

Worry in his grey-blue eyes, he glanced at his fingers. “My dear…”

“Yeah, no,” he said, cradling the back of Aziraphale’s head. “Knew you didn’t mean it.”

“ _Good._ ” He kissed Crowley on the cheek. “That’d be even more of a mess than the rose petals.”

“ _Angel!”_

He shrugged. “Well, it would be.”

They stood there, holding onto each other, as the day ended. The bright red roses in the tree took on an orange and gold tint with the setting sun and the leaves shone green-gold. 

Crowley rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Y’know, I meant it.”

“Hmm?”

“That I don’t love anything in the world as much as I love you.”

He looked down, a blush spreading over his cheeks. “Isn’t that strange.”

“It really isn’t,” he said before swooping his angel up into another heady kiss. 


	6. Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I went a little more graphic with this one. This one does include gore, violence, torture, body modification, and non-consensual body modification. (Kind of on that last one? Crowley asked for this, but ends up screaming anyway.)
> 
> Basically, God can be a dick, especially when it comes to demons and them underestimating how painful a thing might be.
> 
> Angst with a happy ending.

Crowley knew it would hurt. He had always known that.

He hadn’t expected it to hurt this much though.

Pain coursed through him simply from the light. Everything was too bright, too clean, too sterile. It was more obscuring than darkness. In darkness, you could see that faint outline of grey that indicated that something might be there. This was all-consuming light. Shades of white and yellow danced before his eyes, even when he closed them. There was no escape. No shadows to hide in. Everything was known.

He pulled against his bonds. They were cold and had to be made out of some sort of stone. Smooth stone that had been worn down by the ages.

“Relax,” a smiling voice said somewhere. “This _is_ what you wanted.”

He took a few shuddering breaths. It was. “How do I know it won’t kill me?”

“You don’t,” the voice replied. Somehow, he could feel the smile grow wider. “But that’s part of the thrill.”

He screamed as a pain like a red-hot knife sliced through his chest. He whimpered as he felt ribs crush and break. She’d punctured a lung. His chest was going to fill up with blood and that would be the end. No more corporations. Hell would have him and he’d never see Aziraphale again. He thrashed against the hard, cold surface under him. “Stop it!” he screamed, tears streaming from his eyes. “It hurtsss!”

The voice didn’t answer. Instead, he felt flesh peel away from his ribs. There was a new color now. Red. Something red was going into his chest. He tried to pull away, but it was inside him now. He shrieked as it attached itself to his body like a parasite, sending lightning through his body. “Make it ssstop!” he wailed. “Make it ssstop! _Pleassse_! I’m beggin’ you!”

“This is what you asked for,” the voice said as the flesh folded back onto his ribs. There was a stinging, burning squeeze as his bones knit together and his skin sewed back together like there was never a cut. A sound like a drumbeat rang through his ears. The light pulsated with it. _Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._ “And now you have it.”

_Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._

“Crowley?”

He opened his eyes. He was lying on the sofa in the backroom. Aziraphale was standing over him, his brow furrowed. “Angel?” he asked weakly.

“My dear, are you alright?” he asked. He crouched down so that he was at eye level with him. “You were screaming in your sleep.”

He pressed a hand against his chest. Everything was whole, but then what had he expected from Her? “Think I have a heart now, angel,” he said.

Aziraphale gave him a disapproving look. “Crowley, you’ve always had a heart,” he said like he was explaining something to a small child. “Not that you remember to keep it beating at the right rhythm to mimic humans, but–”

“No, angel! I mean I have a _heart_.”

“I don’t follow.”

How could he explain this? That demons don’t have hearts. That he shouldn’t be able to love. That somehow he had, even without one. That he’d prayed at night, even if it hurt his knuckles and scorched his skin, to have a heart. “’S nothing, angel,” he said. “Bad dream.”

“Should I make some chamomile for you?” he asked, already getting up to go make it.

“Yeah, sure.” He pulled the sky-blue, tartan blanket tighter around himself and listened.

_Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._

“Angel!” he called. 

Aziraphale paused just as he was about to step into the kitchenette. He turned to look at him, his hands already reaching for the ring he played with when he was worried.

“I love you.”

He smiled fondly at him. “I love you too, you silly serpent,” he said before stepping into the kitchenette and putting the kettle on.

As Aziraphale hummed the first few bars of “[Che Gelida Manina](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1tlM9arIzZc),” Crowley closed his eyes and listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There’s really no significance behind “Che Gelida Manina" It’s just one of my favorite romantic arias.


End file.
